Work Text:
Aziraphale moaned out loud toward the ceiling again as Crowley plowed into him. His eyes were blown wide, sweat dampening his hair and slicking where his back rubbed against the bedsheets, his body ablaze with molten pleasure as his beloved demon built up to a more urgent rhythm inside him.
“Yes, Crowley,” he pleaded breathlessly, “oh, please, give me—ahhh!—”
After a few less elegant thrusts, Crowley had zeroed in on Aziraphale’s prostate again. With a groan as Aziraphale tightened around him, he pumped away inside him, pressing right against the squishy nub every time.
“Ahh—ahhhh—ohhhh—” Aziraphale cried out, unable to form words in the throes of such red-hot bliss. “Ohhh, Crowley—you’re so good to me, you’re so good—”
“Nnnnnnggg,” Crowley growled, and leaned in to nuzzle Aziraphale’s cheek. “Wanna make you come,” he whispered urgently, pressing a wet kiss next to his angel’s ear. “Wanna make you feel so good…”
“Yes, darling, make me come, make me feel good…”
Crowley’s lips were on his then, and Aziraphale could barely coordinate his mouth to respond with how delirious he was, but he gave all that he had. He parted his lips easily to let Crowley plunder his mouth, let him suck on his tongue until he moaned from how delightfully filthy it was.
With permission granted to stop drawing out the pleasure and send Aziraphale to his peak, Crowley hovered over Aziraphale’s lips, their loud, warm breaths mingling between them. Crowley paused his hips, buried balls-deep inside Aziraphale. Aziraphale couldn’t help squeezing around him a little, making Crowley hiss, urging him on to please give it to me.
Crowley positioned himself. Angled his cock just right. Gave himself the leverage he needed, with his knees spread wide behind him, one elbow supporting his weight next to Aziraphale’s head.
And with that…he started jackhammering his hips, pumping onto Aziraphale’s prostate over and over and over and overandoverandoverandover yesyesyesyesyesYES—
Aziraphale’s eyes rolled back right away, his body rocking back and forth with the force of it, arching back so his hair rubbed sweat into the pillowcase. His balls jiggled, his cock bobbed back and forth in counter-rhythm to the rest of his body. Each fuck inside him was shooting fiery pleasure through his cock, up his belly, into his chest, spreading into his back, his shoulders, his neck, “oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, yes Crowley, YES—”
Their hips were smacking together with each hard-and-fast thrust, clapping their flesh together again and again and again and again, so lewd and intimate and sexual it drove Aziraphale wild. He could feel Crowley’s balls slapping against his ass, could feel that throbbing cock spreading his insides open over and over, oh it was so wonderful—
Then he felt a sharp, focused pleasure, as Crowley wrapped his free hand around his angel’s cock. The swing of Aziraphale’s cock back and forth stopped, but the stimulation from his beloved’s hand was so infinitely better, and being stimulated both inside and outside was going to make him come, he was going to come, he was so close, oh God, “oh, God, Crowley—”
“Angel,” Crowley moaned, “fuck, look at me, look at me, Aziraphale—”
So Aziraphale did. He forced his eyes forward, and there was Crowley in front of him right there, panting and mouth hanging open as he exerted himself to pleasure Aziraphale, the slit pupils in his golden eyes dilated so wide, groaning as their eyes met, oh he was so generous, and so gorgeous—
Aziraphale arched off the bed as his orgasm barreled into him, body going rigid and spasming over and over, cock shooting come onto their chests and stomachs as he bellowed a loud “OHHHHHH!!”
Crowley was a red-and-tan blur above him as his eyes unfocused. But he swore he saw Crowley smile as he watched his angel spend himself.
“Ohhhhh…” Aziraphale gurgled as the sharpness of his orgasm ripped through him, “ooohhhh…uhhhhh…”
The fucking inside him slowed, matching the slowing spasms of his internal muscles. With each fuck in, another sharp squeeze clenched through his body, and another dribble of semen spilled onto Crowley’s hand. Almost as if Crowley were fucking his orgasm out of him.
When at last it tapered off, Aziraphale collapsed back against the bed, boneless and spent. Crowley held still, though he remained buried inside him. He stroked Aziraphale’s cock one last time, before gently letting him go.
“That’s it, angel,” Crowley whispered breathlessly, “I’ve got you.”
Aziraphale, though he still wasn’t coherent enough to speak or open his eyes, grinned broadly, even as he caught his breath. “Oh, my love,” he panted, “my love…”
Then lips were pressing gentle kisses to his face, below one eye, then the other, then to his forehead, then the tip of his nose. Even though Aziraphale was still catching his breath, he couldn’t care less about that, and moved to capture Crowley’s lips with his own. The kiss was messy and uncoordinated, but somehow even more tender and loving because of it.
“Mmmm,” Aziraphale hummed happily. “You’ve gotten so good at making love to me, Crowley.”
Crowley chuckled. “Glad I’m a good time in the sack these days.”
Aziraphale kissed him with more vigor in response, in part to shut down any notions that Crowley had ever not been a satisfying lover to him; but in part to affirm that yes, Crowley not only had enthusiasm nowadays, he had technique. They’d each honed their skills well these last six years. Now they were more than just satisfying lovers to one another; they were fantastic lovers, their lovemaking tailor-made to pleasure the other.
Speaking of which. Aziraphale broke the kiss, and stroked down Crowley’s face. “You still need to finish,” he whispered.
Crowley breathed a laugh. “Yeah, guess you can still feel my erection inside you. Alright, how do you want me?”
Aziraphale just smiled up at him. And raised his brows, in a clear invitation.
Crowley’s face comically froze in shock. “Hang on. You want me to keep on…?”
Aziraphale nodded brightly. “As you were.”
Crowley raised his brows too, in a sure, whatever you say sort of way. But underneath, Aziraphale could sense a degree of hesitancy in Crowley’s expression.
And Aziraphale could also guess the reason why: Crowley didn’t want to take advantage.
But there was no reason to fear such a thing; Aziraphale knew that. He was the one asking for Crowley to keep fucking him after he’d already come himself. And it wasn’t like they’d never done this sort of thing before. Crowley knew that chasing an orgasm was not the only thing that satisfied Aziraphale in bed.
It wasn’t about giving, or taking. It was about sharing.
Crowley’s hesitation must’ve been soothed enough, for he started fucking Aziraphale again. But slower. Gentler. Gliding in and out with smooth movements of his sinuous hips. He reminded Aziraphale so much of the serpent he’d started out as on Earth, and the thought made Aziraphale smile fondly. His beloved serpent. His precious demon. His.
Crowley dragged back and forth against Aziraphale’s insides. There was no uncomfortable pinching, thanks to the copious amounts of lube they’d used. There was no pain, due to how gentle Crowley was, and how stretched Aziraphale had been from the preparation and their lovemaking. His muscles were loose and relaxed after his own orgasm, which just added to how easy the glide was in and out.
Yes, there was some sensitivity after his orgasm, which had Aziraphale gasping every so often. But the sensation wasn’t painful, exactly; it wasn’t even enough to be called discomfort. It was a lot, yes, but just on the right side of that line. So Aziraphale clutched Crowley’s back, and urged him on.
Soon, he was doing more than clutch Crowley’s back. Crowley lowered himself, and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, breath huffing humidly against his skin. Aziraphale arched his neck back to allow Crowley access. “Oh, Crowley…” he whispered.
Crowley moaned softly, and his hips sped up. His cock started rubbing such friction inside Aziraphale, making them both hum quietly in delight at the mutual stimulation. Aziraphale’s erection was softening, shrinking back down between his legs, and he let it rock back and forth a little with Crowley’s movements.
Crowley kept moaning. But his sounds were so soft, so vulnerable, as if he were trying not to be heard by anyone except the angel holding him. Aziraphale heard the need for privacy for what it was, and clutched Crowley’s head close to him, stroking through his hair. “Yes, my love,” he whispered, and pressed a kiss to the serpent tattoo below Crowley’s ear, “take your pleasure, take your joy, let me take care of you, let me be good to you…”
Crowley whined, and kept fucking. His breath kept huffing at Aziraphale’s neck, his face buried beneath Aziraphale’s ear. His hips were rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, as if he were mindlessly seeking stimulation toward his orgasm.
No, not just stimulation, not just an orgasm. He was seeking shelter. He was seeking a safe place to find his pleasure, protection from everything that wasn’t part of this intimacy. He was seeking love, and care.
Aziraphale felt the shift. Earlier, Crowley had been the one in control, giving to Aziraphale over and over and working him through his climax. But now, while Crowley was the one still fucking him, he was the one seeking to surrender, in the safe harbor of Aziraphale’s arms, inside his body, and deep within his heart.
So, naturally, Aziraphale provided that safe harbor without a second thought.
He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s back, stroking the sweat-slicked skin to soothe and reassure him. He kept his legs spread wide, welcoming Crowley between them. He squeezed his muscles around Crowley’s cock to stimulate him even more with his body’s heat.
“Yes, Crowley,” he whispered, and kissed Crowley’s temple again, “that’s it, it’s alright, you can feel good here, feel as good as you can…”
Crowley moaned, and fucked even faster, mindless, desperate, balls swinging back and forth wildly against Aziraphale’s ass.
Aziraphale stroked through his hair, even as he was jostled a bit from the fucking. “I know you need to come, my love. Just let go, let yourself come, it will feel so good…”
Crowley shouted, slammed his hips in hard, and held still as he spasmed and trembled in Aziraphale’s arms. Aziraphale cried out a little in satisfaction, especially as he felt the liquid heat seeping inside him where Crowley was spilling. Such an intimate sensation, and it never felt so good as when it came from Crowley.
“Uhhhhhhh,” Crowley moaned into Aziraphale’s neck. He rocked his hips again, following the rhythm of the pleasure, pushing his come into Aziraphale again, and again, and again.
Aziraphale held still, happily taking in all his demon had to give him. “That’s it,” he whispered against Crowley’s cheek. “Give it all to me, my love…”
The spasms slowed, and Crowley groaned softly as it tapered off. “Fuuuuck,” he slurred out, with one last gentle push into Aziraphale, wringing out the last drops of pleasure. “Angel…”
“I have you,” Aziraphale whispered, as Crowley grew still. He kissed Crowley’s ear again. “I’m right here, dearest.”
Crowley nuzzled against his neck. The gesture was so sweet and affectionate, it made Aziraphale’s breath catch. He gladly returned it, and soon they were cuddling and nuzzling like sea otters, breathlessly laughing at themselves.
Crowley lifted his head a bit. Aziraphale beamed, at the soft, tender look in those golden eyes. Crowley’s whole expression was glazed over in bliss. He was relaxed, and happy. He was positively glowing.
They kissed, slowly, gently. Their noses rubbed together as they moved apart, then back in to kiss again. And again. And again.
“Thank you,” Crowley murmured when they broke apart for a breath, “for being so good to me.”
Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, for the same.” Then he giggled. “I believe the humans have a saying…‘Thank you, please come again’?”
Crowley snorted. “Maybe in a little while. God invented refractory periods for a reason.”
Aziraphale laughed at that, and let Crowley attend to the business of pulling out and cleaning up. He was gentle in both parts of that equation though, being so careful as he slowly eased out of Aziraphale’s body, and conjuring a damp cloth to wipe first Aziraphale’s, then his own semen clean from their skin.
(Aziraphale sometimes mourned the loss of feeling Crowley’s come dripping out of him so soon, loving how intimately his body was painted and claimed from the inside by his beloved, wishing he could luxuriate in the sensation for longer. But he knew how Crowley felt about such things, and the perfectly understandable reasons he liked to clean up their come as soon as he could. So Aziraphale let him do it, without a hint of protest.)
With cleanup finished and the cloth vanished into nothing again, Aziraphale was surprised that Crowley didn’t throw the blankets over them both right away. He kept them naked and exposed on top of the sheets as he cuddled close to Aziraphale again. Aziraphale had no complaints about that, and situated himself on his side to cuddle right back.
But as they kissed and caressed in the moments that followed…Aziraphale sensed something in his beloved. Namely, he noticed a distance. His precious demon was growing fainter, as he retreated into his own thoughts, contemplating something Aziraphale could only guess at.
Well, perhaps he could do more than just guess. “Are you alright?” he asked gently. “You seem far away, love.”
Crowley flicked his golden eyes to him, as if guilty for being caught out. He scoffed a little at himself, and said, “Yeah, fine. Just…thinking about stuff.”
“Oh? What sort of stuff?”
Crowley looked over to a corner of the room, with a quiet sigh. “Trauma stuff.”
Aziraphale’s face fell a little. But not in disappointment—he was never disappointed with Crowley for falling into the grip of his past traumas. Not even with dread, which he supposed was a sign of his own growth—he’d developed much more emotional leeway to engage with the darkest parts of Crowley’s recent past.
No, his face fell more in sympathy than anything else, due to the potential pain his beloved might be falling back into. So, feeling grounded and sure of himself, Aziraphale decided to offer a way out from that pain: “Would you like to talk about it?”
Crowley glanced at him again. “You’re sure?”
Aziraphale nodded. This was a familiar ritual for them both, Crowley asking permission to broach the painful subject, and Aziraphale granting it. It was rare that Aziraphale ever didn’t grant it, but the simple reminder that he could, made the granting of it that much easier to give.
Crowley’s gaze listed back down again. He focused on where his hand was idly caressing Aziraphale’s chest, brushing through the white hairs there in a way that both tickled and delighted Aziraphale. It took Crowley a while to continue speaking; Aziraphale didn’t rush him, simply waited patiently for his love.
“Not thinking about anything particular they did to me,” Crowley finally murmured. “Just thinking about…what they called me.”
He didn’t say anything further for a while. Aziraphale covered the hand on his chest with his own, stroking his thumb against the knuckles and tendons. “What did they call you?” he asked softly.
Crowley heaved out a heavy breath. “Slut. And whore.”
Something hot burned in Aziraphale’s chest for a second. Something heartbroken, and protective, and furious. It was only for a moment, and it faded in intensity soon after. But the wound of it still lingered in his heart, weighing him down with the thought of those horrid angels and demons calling Crowley such things.
Crowley shrugged. “I dunno. Sometimes after sex, especially when I get so…mindless about chasing my pleasure. I remember it. Feels like…hm. Not that they were right, just that…they might’ve been onto something.”
“Crowley.”
The gentleness he covered the word with softened the blow, but the sharpness of the urgency was still there. Crowley glanced up at him in surprise.
Aziraphale took a breath, and it filled his voice with gentleness again. “If you are a whore for enjoying sex with the one you love, then so am I.” He chuckled. “Perhaps we can be whores together. Monogamous whores, if you like. Or ethical sluts, as that one book is called.”
Crowley flashed a smile at him. But it quickly faded, indicating he wasn’t in much of a joking mood about the idea. Aziraphale quickly stopped laughing at the sight.
“It hurt,” Crowley murmured. “When they called me those names. And what I can’t figure out, is why it hurt. Because I know I’m not a slut or a whore, even knew it back then in that cell. ‘Virgin’ would’ve been a better way to insult me, if they cared about that.” He shook his head. “So why did it dig so deep when they called me something I’m not?”
Aziraphale tilted his head as he pondered the question. It was a fair point to consider. “Perhaps…because they meant those words as insults? They’re common words used to shame someone for their sexuality, after all. Although, perhaps we must consider what those two words mean, since they’re not quite the same thing.”
“Mm.” Crowley was quiet for a moment. “They both mean ‘someone having a lot of sex.’ But again, I didn’t.”
“Well,” said Aziraphale, “they have different connotations, to imply the reason someone might have more amounts of sex. ‘Slut’ means a ‘slovenly, unclean’ person. It used to be used in that way for men and women alike, before it became more attached to women. Nowadays…I think it means, someone who doesn’t keep acceptable sexual morals. As in, someone who will have sex with anyone they like, regardless of how socially acceptable it is.”
“But I didn’t,” Crowley protested again. “You know that.”
“Crowley…in a way, you did.”
Crowley whipped his head over to Aziraphale in shock. “What.”
But Aziraphale knew he had to explain. “A slut is someone who has sex with anyone they like. And you didn’t like anyone, except for the one angel who became your friend. So, technically…you chose to have sex with exactly whom you pleased, regardless of the expectations Hell might’ve had for you. Because what pleased you, was to stay celibate, until it was safe for us to be together, so you could give your virginity to me.”
The tension and outrage evaporated from Crowley’s face, replaced with a soft smile as he considered Aziraphale’s point. “Huh. Guess that’s true. I had sex with whom I wanted. Which was no one.”
Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek in a surge of affection. “You took ownership of your sexuality. Which is what being a ‘slut’ is all about. That’s what people who slut-shame take such umbrage with, that someone is using their sexuality for themselves, instead of fitting into a mold that pleases society.”
“Hm. True,” said Crowley. “Guess human society, and Hell, have different expectations. Could have sex with as many demons or humans as I wanted, as long as I didn’t have mushy feelings about it. Just my luck, that I only wanted sex with someone I had feelings for.” He scoffed. “The curse of demisexuality.”
Aziraphale reached to Crowley’s furthest cheek, gently tilting his beloved’s face back toward him, caressing him sweetly for good measure. “It’s not a curse,” he murmured to Crowley. “It’s a blessing. You only feel desire toward those you have emotional intimacy with, which—if it’s requited—can make sex so much more pleasurable and loving. Look at what we did tonight, my love. You waited for me, and look at how much it was worth it.”
Slowly, a lopsided grin rose to Crowley’s face. Aziraphale moved in closer, and softly kissed that grin, which had Crowley returning the kiss with just as much tenderness.
“On second thought,” Crowley murmured once they broke apart, “if you put it like that, maybe I wouldn’t mind being a slut. An ethical, monogamous slut, or whatever you want to call it.”
Aziraphale grinned. “You have sex on your own terms, regardless of what Hell thinks. If that makes you a monogamous slut, I’m happy to be such a slut with you.”
Crowley laughed at that, and kissed him again. There was a bit more passion to it this time, which made Aziraphale wonder if Crowley was ready for round two…
But it was not to be, as Crowley released him without initiating further physical intimacy. Which was just as well, as Aziraphale didn’t think he was quite recovered enough for more sex just yet. Besides, he was quite enjoying the emotional intimacy he and Crowley were sharing during this discussion, and he was loath to give that up so soon.
“So, that’s ‘slut’,” Crowley said. “You said ‘whore’ means something different?”
“Somewhat,” said Aziraphale. “A whore, as you are likely well aware, is someone who sells sex to others. So while they also have more sex than society would deem acceptable, the sex they’re having is transactional.”
Crowley’s gaze listed away from him again. There was a distant look in his eyes, almost like he was on the verge of shutting down, that Aziraphale didn’t like at all.
“Like you told me the first time you sent me into subspace,” Crowley said quietly. “A whore has to earn their keep. If the transaction is that they provide pleasurable sex, that’s their value. And if they don’t keep up their end of the deal…what worth do they have? What’s to stop them from being abused if they don’t satisfy?”
Aziraphale stroked through Crowley’s hair, hoping to soothe him from his clearly-mounting distress. “Hopefully, the ethics of the person paying for the sex,” he said. “But I know many prostitutes’ situations are far from that ideal.”
Crowley shook his head, and it broke Aziraphale’s heart to see those golden eyes shining, and that low voice he so loved becoming hoarse and strangled with emotion. “I still don’t get it,” Crowley said thickly. “Why did it cut me so deeply? I wasn’t being a slut by choosing to have sex with all my torturers, and I wasn’t being a whore by having them pay me for sexual favors. I got absolutely nothing out of it, but a bleeding asshole and a full-course meal of PTSD.”
Aziraphale shifted some, so he could hold Crowley properly in his arms. Crowley rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder, not quite crying yet, but definitely trying to rein in the tears that were threatening to spill over.
Aziraphale stroked that trembling back, rested his cheek against Crowley’s forehead, and spoke his next words as softly as he could. He hadn’t been able to protect Crowley from his past abuse, but he would do all he could to protect him from the aftershocks of pain it was causing him now.
“I think…” he said gently, “the whole point was that it wasn’t true. Your torturers knew you didn’t want to be there. They knew the last thing you wanted to do was to engage with them sexually. They knew you weren’t taking control of your sexuality with them, or choosing to trade sex for other compensation.” He kissed Crowley’s forehead, and felt a tear slide down Crowley’s nose, onto his own neck. “But by calling you ‘slut’ and ‘whore’…they were implying that it was true. That you had chosen the path that led to you being raped, and were being intentionally promiscuous to earn such cruel treatment. Because ultimately…the crime they were punishing you for, was the way you asserted your sexuality: by loving and desiring me.”
Crowley sniffed loudly, and his breath caught on a sound too close to a sob for Aziraphale’s liking. “So it was back to the victim-blaming?” he rasped out. “Implying it was my fault for them raping me?”
Aziraphale hugged Crowley closer to him, as close as they could get. “Yes,” he whispered. “Acting as if you deserved it. As if your sexual desires were what earned you such cruelty.”
Crowley shuddered, the vibrations rippling through his back underneath Aziraphale’s gentle hands. It broke Aziraphale’s heart, to see how deeply this wound still pained his precious demon. Even if he didn’t consciously blame himself for the rapes anymore, the reminder that his rapists had blamed him still stung so keenly.
“So it’s like what I said one time,” Crowley said when he found his voice. “That the rapes were corrective.”
“In a sense,” Aziraphale said. “But isn’t that a term the humans use?”
Crowley sniffed again. “Yeah. As a hate crime. By raping someone who isn’t straight. Like forcing them into heterosexual sex will ‘turn them straight’ again.”
The thought made Aziraphale nauseous. “How horrid.”
“Mm,” Crowley agreed. He raised his head then, and wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. “But I guess it does apply to what happened to me, too. We may not be straight or gay in strictly human terms—don’t really have genders, just use ‘em for convenience, and we can change our bodies at will—but we are sexually deviant by Heaven and Hell’s standards. We’re an angel and a demon; we’re not supposed to love and want each other.” He shrugged one shoulder. “So they decided to punish me for it. And hopefully, it would ruin me sexually for you, so you’d turn away in disgust once you knew what they’d done. Or, it would make me never want sex with anyone, especially not you, after associating it with them raping me for so long.”
Aziraphale shook his head. “What does that even mean, ‘ruin you sexually for me’? I cannot think of anything that would ‘ruin’ you. That implies you only have value to me if you can please me sexually.”
He cupped Crowley’s cheek, stroking down that sharp jawline, looking lovingly into Crowley’s beautiful golden eyes that still swam with unshed tears. “And I hope you know by now, how untrue that is. Just as when I told you that you’re not a whore: your value does not come from pleasing or serving others, not even me.” He pressed a sweet kiss to one of the tear tracks on Crowley’s face. “You have worth inherent to who you are, Crowley. Nothing anyone else could ever do to you, could ever change that. You are kind, and clever, and wonderful, regardless of anything Heaven and Hell could ever do to you. Nothing can take away your worth.”
He kissed Crowley’s nose. Crowley nuzzled against his face, and met Aziraphale’s next kiss with his own lips. Aziraphale felt all the sweet gratitude in Crowley’s kiss, and met it with just as much affection and warmth.
“Thank you,” Crowley murmured. “I know you keep telling me that. But I think I still need to hear it, sometimes.”
Aziraphale smiled, and gathered his wonderful demon into his arms, resting his cheek on top of that soft, red hair. “And I will tell you, as often as you need me to. I will never get tired of reminding you of your worth, my dearest.”
Crowley hummed happily, and broke from the embrace for a bit, so he could grab the bedsheets and throw them over their bodies. Aziraphale huddled gratefully in their softness, especially when Crowley returned to his arms to cuddle for the rest of the night.
They lay in each other’s arms in silence for a moment, mulling over what they’d just discussed. Each grateful, no doubt, for how much love and understanding they’d built together, despite all the odds, despite the full might of Heaven and Hell’s combined power structures standing firmly against them.
“Still,” Crowley said quietly, breaking the companionable silence. “Even if those words don’t mean bad things on their own, even if they can be good things. I don’t want to be a slut, or a whore.”
Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead. “Then you won’t be. I won’t ever call you those words.” After a moment, he asked, “What would you like to be called?”
“All the things you already call me,” Crowley murmured. “All the ‘darlings’ and ‘dearests’ and ‘beloveds’ and ‘precious demons’ you’ve got, I’ll gladly take.” Then, after a moment’s silence: “But mostly…I just want to be yours.”
Though Crowley couldn’t see it, Aziraphale smiled broadly where he rested his head on top of his demon’s. “Then that’s what you’ll be. Just as I will be yours, for the rest of time.”
With that, they both seemed content to relax toward sleep. Crowley drifted off first, perhaps from the deep relaxation after their lovemaking, and from the utter safety and peace he floated in from their conversation.
Aziraphale, however, still turned it around in his mind.
A jagged edge of the protective anger was still lodged in his heart. Because how dare they. How dare they call this wonderful demon such hateful, hurtful names! How dare they blame him for his own sexual abuse! How dare they exploit his vulnerable feelings around remaining a virgin for six thousand years, deliberately saving himself for the angel he loved, and instead of seeing that as the beautiful decision it was, shaming him for it!
He sighed. He couldn’t do anything about the past. They had said what they’d said to Crowley as they’d abused him, and the damage was already done.
But, Aziraphale could help remedy such damage. He had already healed the wounds on Crowley’s body the night he’d rescued him; now, he could help Crowley heal those wounds in his heart, by reminding him over and over that he was safe, he was loved, he was cherished, and he was worthy of that safety and love. He was worth protecting, worth cherishing, worth comforting and soothing and adoring.
Crowley didn’t want to be called a slut, or a whore. Didn’t even want to think of himself that way, even though such thoughts still intruded on his mind in his more vulnerable moments. Aziraphale had already had no intention of calling him any of those things, and had told him before that he wasn’t a whore. But now, he had even more reason to not only never call Crowley those words, but to refute such self-blaming beliefs if they ever rose in Crowley’s mind again.
No, what Crowley said he wanted, was to be called endearing words. Darling. Dearest. Beloved. Precious demon. All the things he was to Aziraphale, which Aziraphale called him already.
And most of all, he wanted to be Aziraphale’s love.
Well. If that’s what Crowley asked for, there was even more reason for Aziraphale to call him those things, and remind him of how wonderful he really was. For all his prideful persona and tough exterior, his demon had such a tender heart deep down. He thrived on affection, as all God’s creatures did. Even angels, Fallen or otherwise, needed love.
As Aziraphale drifted to sleep himself, in the arms of the one he loved above all others, he reaffirmed his promise to himself. He would love this demon, and show him his love in every way he knew how, and remind him how much he deserved that love, for the rest of his existence.